by Wendy Mitman Clarke, SAIL Editor-in-Chief
This is the column where I hopelessly date myself, and it came to me in the weirdest place—the short passage just beyond the bar at The Black Pearl in Newport, Rhode Island. I was in town for the Newport Boat Show in September, making the annual trek for my favorite chowder, when memory slammed into me.

“Hi, Mom! I’m here, we’re all OK, it was a great race!”

I was on a pay phone in that dark little hallway, calling my parents to let them know I was safe and sound after sailing in the 475-mile Annapolis-Newport Race. It had been a great race—we’d sailed well and earned silver, but even better, we’d had a blast.

The rest of the crew were in the bar, telling stories and laughing all over again, and it was hard to hear my mom on the other end of the line. But after days of having no contact with land, the sense of adventure that had begun when we cast off was complete when I put the coins in the phone and called home. – Full report